


Let's Dance!

by Space_and_Thyme



Series: Winter's Child [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s appropriate breakfast, Adopted Daughter, Boys In Love, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Gen, Idiots in Love, M/M, Sappy Fluff, Seriously someone stop Bucky from cooking that much, Swing Dancing, playlist included
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 22:46:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15850959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_and_Thyme/pseuds/Space_and_Thyme
Summary: The day after Violet's field trip to the National Art Gallery, Steve thinks there's something up with his husband - Bucky seems out of sorts. Is something actually up, or is Steve just stuck in his own head?Bucky does what he does best to bring Steve back into reality with him.





	Let's Dance!

It started the Saturday morning after the trip to the National Art Gallery.

 

Violet was rare to wake early on Saturdays – not that she reveled in being lazy, it was just that she had a tendency to stay up late to finish her homework on Friday night. She also liked to train on her own in the gym after her homework was finished – typically after midnight when she was sure that her parents were asleep – or at least in bed. She rather envied them, in some ways; due to both of their extended time in versions of Cryo-stasis once they were unconscious they tended to stay that way unless something broke them out of it. She figured it had to be more restful than the nightmares she dealt with often.

 

What woke her that morning, was the smell of frying bacon wafting through floor-wide apartment that she shared with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Her brows furrowed as she pushed herself upright, tangled in her bedding with her hair mussed from sleep. Steve never cooked bacon – if it _was_ cooked, it was always Bucky. And even then it was rare, because Steve continually brought up that it wasn’t the healthiest item on the menu, so Bucky seemed to have kept it for _special occasions_ – when Steve would crumble and eat the better part of a pack of bacon on his own.

 

Pushing her hand back through her bangs, trying to sort them out, Violet pushed the sheets off of her legs and swung herself out of the bed. She glanced at the clock as she stood up – it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet, and her bones immediately called for the return to sleep. She’d only been in bed for the last four hours. She scrubbed her hand over her face as she stepped out of her room, pulling the door lightly closed behind herself to spare either Steve or Bucky (or both) the sight of her unmade bed (she still planned on returning to the warm confines of her comforter and cotton sheets). She padded through, heading towards the kitchen, when she heard the tell-tale sound of Steve’s confident stride approaching behind her. Pausing, she glanced back over her shoulder at Steve and shrugged her shoulders in a universal expression of _‘I don’t know what’s going on, either'_

 

Steve’s brows furrowed, but he shrugged in response – it seemed too early to use words. Any other day he’d have already been up and likely just returning from his morning run. But, Saturday was his rest day, and after the various shocks of the day before, he had had no intention of denying himself a warm nook curled up with his husband. Truthfully after the night before, he had zero desire to leave the bed or Bucky for the rest of the weekend. But, he’d awoken to a cold bed, and no sign of Bucky, with the unmistakable aroma of sizzling bacon wafting under the bedroom door.

 

Steve caught up to Violet in a few long strides, and put his hand on her shoulder, pulling her close to his side as they walked through to the kitchen.

 

The sight that met them, caught Steve completely off guard.

 

Bucky stood, moving between the counter and the stove as he cooked breakfast. He was dressed in a simple ivory Henley with charcoal wash jeans. A tea towel was thrown over his shoulder as he moved back and forth. It was… strange. Despite having seen the haircut the day before (and becoming rather _intimately_ familiar with it and his clean shaven face the night before), it was still surreal to see Bucky like this. Here in the kitchen. His back was to them, as a plate full of Irish Soda Bread cooled on the kitchen bar top that served as the breakfast table. The sight of the coarse brown bread, and the delicious scent of it both made Steve's stomach growl, and tears come to his eyes. Violet’s brows furrowed as she looked up at him.

 

It had been a long, long, time since he’d smelled _that_ Irish Soda Bread. It had been a staple of his childhood – Sarah Rogers had made it almost every morning when she was alive. After she passed on and Steve was living in the tiny one bedroom apartment with Bucky, he thought he’d never have that bread again – Irish Soda Bread was a basic enough recipe – there were only so many ways in which it could be made, but Sarah’s was _special_. And one day when Steve returned from class, Bucky surprised him. Oh, Bucky had been spattered with bits of drying dough up and down his forearms and on his fingers, and there was a trace of flour dust in his dark hair, but he was beaming – as bright as the July sun. He’d spent the entire day, from the moment Steve left for class in the morning, until the early evening when he returned, testing variations of soda bread recipes. Sarah had left her recipe behind, old and faded, and though he had followed it precisely, the bread lacked a certain luster that Sarah’s had always had. It was a good thing that Bucky had practically been raised by the woman along with Steve – he could still remember the taste of that bread, and he’d managed to find the trick after several un-successful loaves. A difference of two teaspoons of brown sugar melted into the buttermilk, and a tiny pinch of cinnamon sifted into the flour. It didn’t seem like much, but it turned the very basic bread into what Bucky had finally recognized as being _almost_ similar to his own grandmother’s Scottish bannock recipe.

 

Unfortunately, when they were barely scraping by, Sarah’s Soda Bannock (as Bucky had taken to calling it) was a luxury that wasn’t often able to be afforded. That never stopped Bucky though, the moment that he had a little extra pocket money to spend (when it wasn’t needed for medicine, or the herbal cigarettes used to treat Steve’s asthma) he made sure he bought a couple of pounds of dark brown sugar, and several ounces of ground cinnamon. He kept it all hidden on the top-most shelf of the pantry. Bucky made Sarah’s Soda Bannock every time Steve had a pressing deadline and had worked himself to exhaustion. He made it every time exams and essays were due. He made it for every holiday – Easter, Steve’s Birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc. He made it any time that he just wanted to surprise Steve with a slice – or a chunk – of home.

 

Since Bucky had returned five years passed, there had been no mention of Sarah’s Soda Bannock. Not that Steve had expected it – he’d thought, again, that the bread was lost with Bucky’s death as it had almost been lost with his mother’s. And he’d been alright with it – it wasn’t that he couldn’t make it himself – Bucky had been sure to copy out Sarah’s recipe with the added trick in his own crisp and clear handwriting – but it wouldn’t be the same. The bread itself wasn’t what was important, rather it was the closeness of the people who had made it, each in their turn. His family – his beloved mother and the love of his life. But, since Bucky had returned, and the last three years where they were properly reunited, there had been no mention of Sarah’s Soda Bannock. Steve couldn’t bring himself to think of it – assuming it was one of the memories that Bucky would never recover. Too much had been done to his sweet husband. Steve neither expected nor hoped that something as simple and benign as Sarah’s Soda Bannock would be retained in his memories – he was glad to just have the big pieces of his husband left.

 

And yet there it was, cooling on the counter – the mouthwatering scent of that familiar bread unleashed his emotions, stronger than he thought was possible. Steve closed his eyes, to stop himself from tearing up.

 

Violet’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked up at Steve – she obviously knew something was up, but she wasn’t going to press it. Instead, she turned to Bucky. “What’cha up to?” her stomach growled.

 

Bucky immediately laughed as he moved in the space between the stove top and the counter. He was holding a large cast iron skillet – one of the utensils that both he and Steve vehemently agreed needed to be in the arsenal of their modern kitchen – and a wooden spatula. His shoulders blocked out what he was doing, but he was clearly shoveling something from the skillet and onto a serving platter. As he moved out the way, the other iron skillets became visible, simmering on the stove. “Makin' ya a _real_ breakfast.”

 

A few moments later, with the other skillets emptied, and the platter full, Bucky turned to face them – setting the large porcelain serving dish on the counter beside Sarah’s Soda Bannock. The tray was heaped with Bubble and Squeak (a patty made from mashed potato mixed with left over boiled cabbage, parsnips, carrots, mushrooms and chopped onions and the vegan sausage that they kept for Violet’s dietary needs, fried until the patty was brown around the edges), and a mound of waffles – more than the three of them could _likely_ eat in one sitting. Violet’s eyes widened in delight as she saw the waffles, while Bucky turned away back towards the other counter once again.

 

The moment Steve saw the platter, he knew what Bucky had done. He almost laughed – if only because it seemed so ridiculous that the Winter Soldier had made a proper 1940s breakfast – but… well, Bucky _wasn’t_ the Winter Soldier any more. He was something else. But, he wasn’t the Bucky he’d known before the war, either. Steve shook it off. There’d be time for all of that later.

 

When Bucky turned around again, he held three plates – one in each hand, and the third resting on the flat of his good, right, forearm. Two of the plates had scrambled eggs with mushrooms and bacon, as well as several slices of fried tomato laid at the side. The other had the tomato slices, with sautéed mushrooms and chives, as well as more of the vegan sausage crumble. He set the plates on the breakfast bar, allowing the third to gently slide off of his forearm and onto the table top. He turned away for half a moment, grabbing a Pyrex bowl full of thick whipped cream, and a plate full of sliced strawberries. He set these down, and quickly added a small bottle of maple syrup beside it all. The knives and forks were already waiting on the counter top.

 

Violet’s mouth was water as she looked over the mountains of food. She’d spent so long scrounging and going hungry, that this was like dying and going to paradise. Bucky rarely cooked – though he did it far more often than Steve – but he’d never gone to such an extent in the time that she was living with them.

 

Steve glanced at the bowl of whipped cream, and paused. “Buck… did you _seriously_ whip the cream yourself?”

 

Bucky shrugged lightly as he started putting waffles onto Violet’s plate. “Yeah, of course.”

 

“… Why didn’t you just buy-“

 

“Because it’s almond milk, Stevie. So Violet can have it too. Though I’ll admit that whipping it was harder than I gave credit for – had to let it clot in the oven for a couple hours first.”

 

Steve’s eyes widened in shock. “Bucky! How long have you been up?!”

  

Bucky glanced up at the kitchen clock, before shrugging his shoulders easily. “Since four.” He drizzled the waffles with maple syrup before he picked up the bowl of whipped almond cream and scooped a large dollop with a serving spoon and thwacking it down onto Violet’s waiting waffles. He nudged the plate of strawberries towards her as he put a section of cut Bubble and Squeak onto the plate as well.

 

Steve shook his head as he reached for Sarah’s Soda Bannock while Bucky passed the plate to Violet. “Why? Did I do something… _wrong_ …?” he glanced up.

 

Bucky paused as he set a couple of waffles onto his own plate. He raised his silver eyes to Steve and met his gaze for a long moment. There had been some happenings the night before – an enthusiasm in Steve that Bucky had not expected – and he knew it was because of his _almost_ replicated pre-war appearance exciting his husband. He’d had to tell him that he _wasn’t_ that man, but… he did _want_ to be as much of him as he could be for Steve. It had been a little embarrassing for them both, but he’d thought the topic had been settled and laid to rest the night before. He shook his head. “Of course not, Stevie. Just couldn’t sleep after a few hours.”

 

Steve nodded quietly as he tore the soda bannock into pieces in his fingers. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t want Bucky to be upset with him – he hadn’t been able to help it. It had just… been a long, long, time since he’d seen Bucky like that and it had aroused him beyond what he’d expected.

 

“Get out of your head, Stevie.” Bucky’s voice broke the tension, as his hand reached out and cradled Steve’s cheek. “I promise it’s not like that. Just couldn’t sleep. Not exactly like that’s a rarity for either of us, pal.”

 

Steve looked up and smiled a little sadly. He turned slightly, and pressed a kiss into Bucky’s palm.

 

Violet stared at her waffles, a little guilt gnawing at her. She’d only been going to bed when Bucky was getting up. She really hoped that her movements in the apartment - including showering in her room -hadn’t been what broke him from his sleep. She’d tried to be quiet, but the elevator wasn’t the most silent thing at four in the morning.

 

“Outta _your_ head too, _Rebenok_. I can hear ya thinking.” Bucky teased as he sat himself on the opposite side of the breakfast bar from his husband and daughter.

 

“I… I got in… late… last night…” She glanced up, almost afraid to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Did _I_ wake you?”

 

Bucky shook his head and waved her off. “No, and stop worrying about it. You know I don’t care what time you go to bed on the weekend. I trust ya – besides as long as you’re in the building, I’m not worried about your safety.”

 

Violet nodded quietly, before digging into her ridiculously massive breakfast.

 

It was a pleasant silence that settled over the unconventional little family as they ate. Until Steve suddenly looked up. “Oh! Vi I forgot to get orange juice yesterday-“

 

Bucky shook his head. “There’s a pitcher chilling in the fridge. It should be fine.”

 

Steve paused, eyeing Bucky intently. “… You didn’t juice the oranges yourself, did you?”

 

Bucky shrugged as he took a bite of the Bubble and Squeak. He swallowed after a moment. “I told ya… couldn’t sleep, and making all this from scratch seemed just as a good of a use’a time as lying there staring at the ceiling.” He gestured around himself with the fork in hand.

 

Steve shook his head, almost wanting to laugh. “Why all the effort, Buck?”

 

Bucky smiled gently. “Because we couldn’t _afford_ to eat like this back _then_. Why not indulge a little now, yeah?”

 

Steve shook his head and fell back into the comfortable silence as they ate.

 

Violet, still exhausted from the day and night before, helped clean the dishes before going back to bed for a few hours.

 

It was unnerving. It was like travelling through a slip in dimensions and finding himself _almost_ in the 1940s again. But it was wrong, it wasn’t accurate. Everything was just slightly _shifted._

 

He recognized his Bucky – hell, in reality nothing had changed about Bucky’s personality. He was the same man that brought Violet home the year previous. He was still quiet and somewhat reserved – but he was also the same boisterous man that Steve had watched slowly come back out of his shell over the last three years.

 

So why was it suddenly so obvious to him?

 

In hindsight, Steve hadn’t seen it because of Bucky’s appearance – he’d never put it all together until his husband had shorn off his long hair and mirrored his former self. He wanted to say that cooking such a huge breakfast was out of norm for the Bucky that he’d married as well, but it _wasn’t._ While he’d never gone to the outlandish lengths that he had that morning, Bucky _always_ made sure that at least one day of the week both Steve and Violet were well fed, existing on more than toast, oatmeal, cereal, or orange juice. Truly it wasn’t out of the question that if he honestly couldn’t sleep, that he’d have gone through the effort of cooking a full breakfast.

 

There was nothing amiss. Nothing in the way that Bucky was behaving, nothing in the way that he was dressed. It just seemed so foreign and so familiar all at the same time, that it left Steve confused.

 

Finally, as Bucky came to sit with him on the couch, he had to ask him.

 

“Why did you cut your hair?” Steve turned his head to gaze at the man as he settled onto the couch beside him.

 

Bucky sighed softly to himself as he immediately shifted himself so that he could face his husband. “What are ya doing?”

 

Steve’s brows furrowed tightly. “What do you mean? I’m just asking you a question?”

 

Bucky shook his head resolutely. “No, you’re looking to see if something’s wrong with me. _Again_.”

 

Steve flushed a little red; he hadn’t meant it like that, had he? “No, I-“

 

“You _are_. You’re looking at me like ya don’t know what to think of me now that another night and day has passed. I can _see_ it in you, Stevie. The excitement of last night has turned into apprehension. Can’t a guy just want a change?”

 

Steve bowed his head and sighed softly, nodding silently. “I just… never expected –“

 

“ _Stevie_. Listen to me.” Bucky put his hand under Steve’s jaw and lifted his chin until he had forced his husband to look into his eyes. Steve swallowed nervously, almost afraid of what he was going to hear. “I told you before: I am not _him_. I will never be _him_ again. I _can’t_ be him.” He stroked the peak of Steve’s cheekbone with his thumb, soothingly.

 

Steve nodded in understanding. It’s not that he didn’t understand that, nor that he expected to have his dashing lover circa 1943 returned to him. Only that it was _strange_ to see so many hints of that man in the man he’d become. “I know, Buck-“

 

“Sugar, I don’t think ya do.” Bucky hummed softly. The pet name surprised Steve, forcing him to immediately look back up into Bucky’s stormy eyes. “I haven’t been _him_ since Azzano – and I think ya know _that._ But ya still look at me like I’m an injured animal in a corner, pal. Ya look at me like you both hope to find _him_ in me, while you think I’m still lost like I was after the Potomac. I’m not lost. I’m right here, I’m _me_ , Stevie. I’m _both_ of those men… but I’m strong, punk. Always have been – needed ta be ta keep your stupid ass outta trouble.” He laughed warmly.

 

“Ya gotta listen to me, punk. And listen good.” Bucky paused, staring meaningfully into Steve’s face until he saw the acknowledgement in Steve’s expression – he was listening intently. “What HYDRA put me – no, _listen_ , Stevie. Don’t pull away from me. What HYRDA put me through? It _did_ turn me into another man, but _I_ was always in there, Stevie. They never managed to completely break me – why do ya think they had to use trigger words the moment I was conscious outta the ice every time, pal? I was always _me_ when I woke up. They had to stop it somehow, or they’d never have been able ta use me as the Winter Soldier.”

 

Steve couldn’t stop himself. He wrapped his arms around Bucky and pulled him close, dragging his husband up onto his lap. He just needed to hug him, to hold him, and try and push away his own horror with the comfort of Bucky’s warmth pressed against him. He buried his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck, focusing on the physical reminder that he was here with him.

 

Bucky sighed good-naturedly as he pet Steve’s hair, allowing himself to be held like a teddy bear. His voice fluxed in and out of his old Brooklyn patterns, varying on the level of seriousness. “I ain’t telling ya this to upset ya. I’m tryin’ make a point, but ya need ta really listen – you can stay buried my chest if you need to, though.”

 

Steve nodded, and lifted his head, though he kept the lower half of his face pressed against Bucky’s shoulder. “’m listening…”

 

“What they did to me is _over_. I am here. I am _with_ you – til the end of the line _and back_. Whatever is ahead of us has yet to be seen, Stevie, but the past is finished. I won’t lie and say it’s been a breeze – cause we both know that ain’t true. But I’m _here_. And I’m alright… Sure there’s moments when the world feels like it’s crashin’ around me, but I know I’m safe. I _know_ I’m gonna be alright.

 

“The Winter Soldier – as _you_ met him – is _dead_ , Stevie. He died that day over the Potomac. I…” Bucky sighed softly as he rubbed his right palm in the space between Steve’s shoulder blades, just holding close for a moment. “I’m not the Bucky in those sketches – not the Bucky in that exhibit. But I’m also not the Winter Soldier. I don’t know what to tell ya, pal. It’s been a journey, and I don’t know how else to put it. There’s gonna be some days, Stevie, that it takes everythin’ I got just to get outta the bed. But they are few and far between now. Most days I’m happy, Stevie. You and Violet give me something to fight for. So, ya got me – always. No matter what, ya got me. We’re a team, punk, and I ain’t going anywhere without you. Besides, I made ya a promise, multiple times over – you don’t have to do it alone. I’m with you, and I will follow you – that crazy kid from Brooklyn – _till the end of the line._ ”

 

“I just…” Steve paused and took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of the laundry detergent from Bucky’s shirt, mixed with the soft lingering of his cologne. “I just… it’s so _strange_ to see you… like this…” He gestured, absently, at Bucky’s short hair and clean shaven jaw. “And then you made that huge breakfast like it was 1941 all over again and –“

 

“So? I might not be quite the same man, Stevie. But I’m not a completely different person. And my hair… it was time for a change is all. I can always grow it out again, but I just wanted to be free of it for a while. I might not be _him_ , baby, but I’m still me.” Bucky shrugged his shoulders. “I still like the same things, for the most part.” He paused for a split second. “I mean I’d have to, I’m stuck with ya, after all.” He teased.

 

The tension lifted, and Steve started chuckling as he held onto Bucky, muffling his laughs in his husband’s chest. “Watch it, _pal_.” He poked him, hard, in the flat plane of stomach – causing Bucky to snort indignantly.

 

Bucky smiled gently, as the moment melted into an easy silence. After a moment, he broke the quiet of the room. “Are you okay, Stevie?”

 

Steve nodded his head, “Yeah… yeah I think I’m good, Buck.” He returned the smile.

 

“Good.” cradling Steve’s face in his hands, Bucky titled his head and slowly moved in closer. He brushed his lips against Steve’s softly, a ghost of a kiss, before he pulled him closer. The kiss deepened as he drew Steve’s bottom lip between his, and sucked softly. Steve’s grip on him tightened, holding onto him as Bucky kissed him with a tender passion – he was smiling slightly against Steve’s lips.

 

Bucky drew back a breath’s distance a moment later, with an affectionate smile. “Because I have an idea to get you out of your head.” Steve’s brows furrowed as Bucky pushed himself up from the couch, and caught his phone up off the coffee table as he went. Stuffing the phone into the back pocket of his jeans, Bucky quickly pushed his sleeves up his forearms and leaned down, grabbing a hold of the coffee table, quickly scurrying backwards as he dragged it out of the way.

 

Steve watched him, face marred with confusion. “What are you…”

 

Bucky ignored him, crossing over to the entertainment unit. He pulled the Stark phone out of his pocket and tapped the music app with his thumb, before scrolling for a moment. Finding what he wanted, he locked the phone into the base that routed it through the speakers. As the first notes of Benny Goodman’s _Moonglow_ floated through the air, Bucky crossed the opened space of the living room and stood over Steve, feet braced shoulder width apart, offering his flesh hand – palm up – for his husband.

 

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked between the phone across the room, and his husband’s hand right in front of him. “Buck-“

 

Bucky was grinning, a dashing but predatory look glimmering in his eyes – something Steve hadn’t expected to see after the conversation they’d just had. “Steven Grant Rogers… Get up off your ass and swing with me!”

 

Steve couldn’t help the snort of laughter that erupted from him as he looked down. He took Bucky’s hand and pulled himself up off of the couch. Bucky immediately started walking backwards, pulling Steve out into the middle of the open floor. Steve’s hand settled on Bucky’s shoulder automatically, as Bucky’s laid onto his back. “Buck… It’s been seventy six years…”

 

“That’s why we’re startin’ with _Moonglow_ , pal. Nice and slow.” Bucky smiled, and he was like the sun. “Just follow my lead.”

 

Steve grinned and shook his head a little as Bucky started to slow lead him into what amounted to a quarter paced mix of ballroom dancing with swing elements. “Aren’t _I_ the Captain?”

 

Bucky grinned a little broader as he dipped their clasped hands down to the side, directing Steve’s shoulders to dip sideways and back up. “Only in some things, punk. Dancing’s _my_ specialty.” 

 

“I’m better on my feet than I used to be.” Steve tried to argue.

 

“I should hope so, or we’d never have made it out of Red Skull’s lair.” Bucky snorted. “But that doesn’t mean anythin’.” He picked up his pace a fraction, pulling Steve along with him, forcing him to take longer steps to keep up with him, before Bucky suddenly lifted their clasped hands, took a step back from Steve. He spun himself around on one heel under their linked hands. Facing his husband again, with a bright if not mischievous grin, Bucky caught Steve’s waist with his free hand and pulled him in close again as he picked up the pace as _Moonglow_ faded into the opening notes of Glenn Miller’s _In The Mood._

A shiver ran down Steve’s spine as Bucky lead him into an old, but familiar, choreography. “Now _this_ I remember.” He laughed softly as Bucky backed off a pace, and took both of Steve’s hands in his – hips swaying to the beat of the music as he bobbed his head along with it – helping Steve to keep count.

 

But Steve didn’t need it. They’d danced together this song countless times. When they’d first heard it in the dance hall, they’d fallen for the now classic song. The following week Bucky tore their Zenith radio down to the bare bones and rebuilt it, finally forcing life back into it. They’d celebrated by dancing around their tiny apartment, Steve holding onto Bucky’s larger frame as he whirled him around.

 

Bucky never _solely_ took the lead – he guided and nudged until Steve was adept enough at the steps, before Bucky took the passive role – especially for _In The Mood_ , and _You’re My Lucky Star_. He always let Steve lead him during the songs with a slower pace – they’d lied to each other, claiming it was so that Steve would know how to dance with the right partner – a _girl_ – when the time was right. But they both knew it was for them.

 

Steve closed his eyes as he fell into the familiar steps, leading Bucky around the space of their living room. Here, dancing like this, he could almost forget the passage of time. With his eyes closed, he could almost smell the humid, stuffy, atmosphere of their Brooklyn apartment in the summer. Could almost hear the ticking of the clock that Bucky had tried, repeatedly, to fix after Steve threw it at the wall in a fit of anger – it never behaved after that – every tick was thrice the volume that it needed to be, but it kept time with their dancing – an accidental metronome. The memory of it was embedded into the very fabric of his mind. With his eyes closed he could almost hear the character of their old Zenith, as it crackled and popped, instead of the too clear sound of the digital song, and the Bose speakers. Here with his eyes closed, feeling Bucky’s body moving in compliance to his lead in their dance, was like nothing had changed. And, while Steve had never regretted what he’d done, or that he’d become Captain America and stood up for the little guys… he also never realized how much he missed _being_ the little guy sometimes. Where he fit into the space of Bucky’s torso, even as he lead the taller, stronger, man around. It wasn’t quite the same now that he stood taller and broader than his husband.

 

But, he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

 

“Get outta your head, Stevie. Can’t be passive for the next song – _I_ got the lead.” Bucky bared his teeth in that all too familiar grin, and Steve’s heart leaped a little.

 

Violet had managed to fall asleep for another five hours after breakfast. She fell into a distinct and sound sleep – if she dreamed, she remembered nothing when she awoke. By three o’clock she actually felt rested, and pulled herself out of bed. Looking herself over in the mirror, she combed her fingers through her slightly wild honey-toned hair, before tying its length back with an elastic. She changed out of her pyjamas, and into a pair of jeggings and a long sleeved tee shirt. She brushed her teeth again in the en-suite bathroom of her bedroom, before picking up the tome of sketches she’d bought the day before. Despite the slight horror of seeing parts of Bucky she’d really never wanted to even acknowledge existed, she still wanted to go through all of the 6000 drawings.

 

Holding the book close to her chest, Violet walked out of her bedroom, pulling the door closed behind her as she padded out on bare feet towards the main living area. Her brows furrowed as the music met her ears – she recognized the Big Band classic, but she couldn’t put a name to it – all she knew was that it was frequently used in movies – and _The Simpsons_ – for rich people dancing.

 

Curious, Violet stepped into the living room, watching as Bucky lead Steve, moderately fast at first, into a spin, until they were standing side by side, beaming and kicking, and stepping along with the increasing beat of the song. As the tempo of Benny Goodman’s _Sing Sing Sing_ increased, so too did Bucky’s speed, until he was all but whirling a cackling Steve around like a rag doll, as they moved around each other in perfect sync; dancing their practiced combination of the Jitterbug, the Lindy Hop, and the Charleston. Steve was clearly the secondary partner in the dance, as Bucky spun him and lead him at an alarming rate- he twirled Steve outward, under their clasped hands, before he quickly followed, spinning himself beneath their hands – immediately catching each other and moving into the next speedy footwork. This was something they’d done a hundred times, it was obvious, as Steve danced, temporarily in place, as Bucky whirled himself around him, before tugging Steve nearly off of his feet as he threw his arms open wide, turning to face each side as he danced – Steve following suit. Holding each other tightly by the waist, they spun around each other, whirling in a five foot square space, before Bucky turned himself under Steve’s hand and leaped into the air, spinning himself around before he landed, and held Steve’s hand, as his husband copied his trick step. Landing, Steve grabbed Bucky’s other hand and turned so they both faced the same way, partially away from Violet – holding hands crossed behind their backs as their feet moved in quick and complicated kicks and backwards flicks in a combination of Charleston and Lindy Hop choreography.

 

This athletic feat continued for the space of four minutes, with no cool down as the song remained a punishingly fast tempo until the end. Reaching the end, Bucky pull the two of them into the almost ballroom position of the Lindy Hop, continuing to whirl himself and Steve around, twirling himself and Steve in succession under their clasped hands, before ending the dance on a high note. Just before the very last note, Bucky threw Steve outward into a spin, and suddenly pulled him back, catching him right as the song came crashing to an end.

 

Steve was breathless from the dance, and from happy laughter as he fell into his husband’s arms – colliding with him and hanging on as the high from the dance started to wane. He wasn’t spent – far from it – but the joy of the dance had been more than he’d given credit for, or remembered. Dancing like that with Bucky had always been a treat – but Bucky had never _dared_ to take it so fast in the past – too worried that he’d set off Steve’s asthma, or arrhythmia, or his easy fatigability. With none of that to worry about any more, Bucky was free to lead Steve the way he had always done with the girls in the dance halls – and, hoo boy! Steve suddenly understood just _why_ all the girls melted for Bucky. A guy that could dance like that- _well_! There was _definitely_ something to be said about his bodily skill.

 

Violet couldn’t help it, she started clapping the moment her parents met at the last beat of the song. She whistled wolfishly, half teasing and half in awe of them.

 

Steve, still laughing though it had softened into slightly panted chuckles, looked up at Violet and grinned as he held onto Bucky. Unlike him, his husband was barely winded – the only sign that he was tired after the dance, was in the slightly more pronounced heaving of his chest as he breathed deeply.

 

“Put the book down and come dance with your dad!” Steve laughed as he stepped away from Bucky. He looked into his husband’s face – and Bucky’s eyes shone with joy. Steve shook his head in slight disbelief, not breaking the eye contact with Bucky, though he spoke to Violet as he backed himself towards the couch again. “He’s good for another dance, and he always liked teachin’ the girls!” he chuckled softly as he flopped down onto the couch, and held out his hand for Violet’s book.

 

Violet bit her lip as she handed the book over to Steve. She was a little nervous as she turned back to Bucky – who was holding out his hands for her, a gentle smile on his face. She swallowed tightly around the tightness in her throat. “There’s _no way_ I can dance like _that_ , Bucky.”

 

Benny Goodman’s _Let’s Dance_ had already started.

 

He laughed as he pulled her in close; on hand slotting with hers and held out to the side, as the other respectfully held onto the back of her ribs (Violet’s free hand finding purchase against his shoulder). “This one’s fast, but I won’t let ya fall. Just relax- do the steps that I do!”

 

Violet nodded, still nervous, as Bucky slowly led her into a basic, couple’s, Lindy Hop. She watched his feet as he stepped with conviction, and moved with a mastery of the dance that she didn’t have. She did her best to copy him, and after a few moments, Bucky picked up the pace a little – Violet following along with him as he held onto her. The song was a short one, and by the time Violet was more comfortable, it had concluded.

 

Steve watched with a bright smile from his place on the couch. As much as he loved dancing with Bucky, he also loved to watch Bucky teach others to dance – especially when it was their daughter.

 

There was a brief pause in the music, as the songs switched over. Bucky, still holding Violet’s hands, looked up at Steve. “Do you want _American Patrol_ , or can I keep dancing with Vi?”

 

Steve instantly snorted and waved them off good-naturedly. “Go right ahead.” His soft smile never shifted. “As long as I get _You’re My Lucky Star!_ ” he quickly added.

 

“You _know_ that one is always yours!” Beaming, Bucky turned back to their daughter as the beginning of Glenn Miller’s _American Patrol_ started. Again, it was a faster paced song, but didn’t require the level of effort or skill as _Sing Sing Sing._ With Violet’s confidence increased, Bucky continued to lead her through the song with an adapted Lindy Hop, until they were dancing together and laughing. He spun himself around, slower than he had with Steve, before he twirled her around.

 

Violet giggled, holding onto Bucky tightly as they moved together through the song. By the end of it, she was tired – dancing took more effort than she’d expected – an effort that was different even from the fight training that she had every second day with Bucky.

 

Tired, she walked back to the couch and flopped down beside Steve, and briefly rest her head against his shoulder, as the song changed over. She glanced up at Steve. “Is that one yours?”

 

“Mmhmm.” Steve smiled tenderly, his eyes never leaving Bucky as _You’re My Lucky Star_ began. He pushed himself up from the couch and crossed the short distance to his husband.

 

Bucky’s hips were already swaying in a slightly serpentine figure eight pattern – starting with the very beginning of the song. He bit his lip as he smiled at Steve, holding out his hand passively as Steve took hold of it and his waist, pulling him close. This was a song through which Bucky had always let Steve take the lead – even when he was eight inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter than him. It was a slower song, but full of feeling in the light notes. The constant beat kept Bucky’s hips moving in those figure eights, even as Steve held him close and lead him, swaying and spinning in a slowed ballroom dance with Lindy Hop variations – a hop here, a skip there, and occasional twirl, before returning to each other until they were nearly nose to nose. Steve’s knee slipped between Bucky’s as they hopped together into another Lindy Hop segment. Like _In The Mood_ , this song they had never danced together anywhere but the shielding privacy of their tiny Brooklyn apartment. It was too intimate of a dance – they’d have been found out immediately. _Sing Sing Sing_ had the benefit of being such a fast-paced song, and Bucky’s choreography to it so complicated, that no one questioned the two men who danced it together, on the rare occasion that they performed it together rather than Bucky and any one of the hoard of girls that seemed to swoon after him.

 

Bucky’s eyes drifted closed as he let Steve lead him through the dance, trusting him entirely. “You know _why_ this song is always yours, right?”

 

Steve smiled and hummed softly. “Because I’m the Star Spangled Man?” He teased, still holding Bucky’s hand and waist.

 

“Sure thing, punk.” Even without looking, Steve could practically feel Bucky rolling his eyes. “No, because after _In The Mood_ , this was my favourite song we danced to. I enjoy following you through it, even back when you were a scrawny little ball of anger and injustice.” He laughed softly as Steve flared pink from either embarrassment or a slight rush of rage.

 

 “You’re the only one I wanted to dance this one with, Stevie – I don’t ever want to lead with this song – it’s ours, and I’m _yours_. Got it? Besides, ya always were like the North star to me.”

 

Steve stilled the dance, and held tightly onto Bucky, thankfully as the song was already on the verge of concluding. He hugged him tightly, not sad, not upset, just overwhelmed with love for his husband. It had always been difficult to get Bucky to talk about his feelings – Bucky tended to show his absolute love through other means – working himself to the bone to take care of the rent, gas, and electric bills - sometimes going hungry so that Steve could keep his strength up when he was sick – tidying up the apartment without a word as to Steve’s scattered papers and pencils – throwing himself into fights to make sure that Steve never got irreparably hurt. Of course Bucky’d always had a sense of poetry about the words he used when he _did_ use them, but it always caught Steve off guard.

 

His heart swelled with love for his husband as hugged him. Violet watched them with a smile, as the second last song in the playlist came on. The soft and familiar notes of Benny Goodman’s _We’ll Meet Again_ floating through the air like a hopeful, happy, conclusion.

 

Knowing that Steve wasn’t going to keep dancing if he had to lead, Bucky hummed softly and nudged them back into movement. He kept it simple, all but swaying together with the occasional slow foot work adapted from their previous dances tapped out. He held tight onto Steve’s hand and ribs as he lead them.

 

As the music played on, Bucky smiled and softly began to sing along with Peggy Lee, halfway through the verses already. “ _We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when… but I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day. Keep smiling through, just like you always do, ‘till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away_ …” His voice was gentle, barely audible outside of the bubble of warmth and love surrounding them.

 

Smiling tenderly, his eyes closed as he danced with the love of his life, Steve brought their joined hands close, and brushed his lips over the cool mental of Bucky’s knuckles. Loving every part of him, because he was right – they _had_ met again.

 

They continued to sway together, as the song slowly concluded.

 

A moment later they collapsed onto the sofa, Bucky to Steve’s left, as Steve dragged Violet into his right side. He held both of them tightly, enjoying the afterglow with his family. Steve pressed a kiss into Violet’s hair, as he relaxed, all of the tension in his muscles from the last two days finally going slack. He hummed softly to himself as he realized the last song in the playlist.

 

It fit the two of them – himself and Bucky – perfectly.

 

 _Never thought that you would be_  
Standing here so close to me  
There’s so much I feel that I should say  
But words can wait until some other day…

_Kiss me once, then kiss me twice,_  
Then kiss me once again  
It’s been a long, long time…

 __  
  
Steve turned to face Bucky, who was resting with his head against the back of the couch, his eyes peacefully closed with a slight smile on his face. Steve swallowed tightly – that song fit them _too_ well.

 

 _You’ll never know how many dreams_  
I’ve dreamed about you  
  
Or just how empty they all seemed without you  
So kiss me once, then kiss me twice-

Steve took the advice, his heart beating with the emotion in the song. The lyrics fitted with all that he’d felt between Bucky’s fall and his eventual return. He leaned in close, and pressed a sweet and chaste kiss to his husband’s mouth, reveling in the velvet softness of his lips and the fact that Bucky was _here,_ and  _could_ be kissed.

 

Bucky hummed faintly, and returned the tender kiss as Steve relaxed. As Steve moved to ease away, Bucky’s good hand gently caught the back of his head, and pulled him in for the second of three kisses.

 

Violet rolled her eyes in amusement at the two of them, as she settled into the other end of the sofa, pulling the book of sketches back into her lap. She opened it and began to go through them, turning the page to see a drawing of a realistically rendered Bucky dancing with a faceless, detail-devoid, girl who remained the colour of the bare paper against the shadowed dance hall drawn around them. Violet smiled to herself and relaxed her head against Steve’s shoulder, as Steve and Bucky sat with their heads leaning together.

 

Today was a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I'm so glad that you are liking this series! It means a lot to me because I honestly didn't expect it to get as much attention as it has. These little pieces of fic are kind of cathartic to me - I write them when I'm blocked with other works, or I don't have time to dote on my other fics (what with uni starting up again soon). 
> 
> I've made a playlist of all the songs (era appropriate versions as well) mentioned in this fic, in their featured order (and yes I completely stole Moonglow from Picnic). You can listen to the playlist here: https://open.spotify.com/user/ddxxtpfmrhz77kz8qgjan3ona/playlist/6vcUAFhSiU8arEphZHJZsZ while imagining our boys dancing together. 
> 
> Speaking of dancing together, this is an example of what Steve and Bucky are dancing along with Sing Sing Sing (though our boys are a bit faster and a bit more practiced) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3HnLqoe_qzI
> 
> And yes, that final song, It's Been A Long Long Time absolutely *was* used in Captain America: The Winter Soldier... which makes zero sense if you're not meant to think of Steve and Bucky as a couple, since there's not enough Peggy to remotely explain it. And lets face it... those lyrics... are pretty well suited for how hurt Steve is, still in mourning, before he realizes who the Winter Soldier is...
> 
> Hope that helps! And I hope you enjoyed this one!


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